At the End of the Day
by Evidence
Summary: Sara's POV As Dev puts it "Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before heading up." A sequel to a recent story


Title: At the End of the Day  
  
Author: Evidence  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Author's Notes: D asked for a sequel to "Looking Through the Bottom Half of a Glass" so that's what this is. Thanks to D. This is told in the first person of Sara.  
  
++++  
  
Shift was over and done three hours ago. That use to mean I was still at work helping out where I could or finishing off paperwork. Now I find myself hurrying up to leave, to get out of the place.   
  
I park my SUV in the back so in case someone I know drives by they'll never realize I'm inside. The bar is musty smelling and chilly as if the temperature has been turned down to preserve precious oil. A jukebox sits in the corner playing old eighties tunes. Rick Astly is belting out to me about being in love forever. What a joke that is. Sports memorabilia hands on the walls but not from anyone famous. Or at least I have never heard of Otis Maspin. A bunch of guys are gathered around a TV set watching what looks to be wrestling as I try to peer over their heads. This is not a popular place so it's perfect for me. I want to be anonymous here, not a CSI, not Sara.  
  
I sit at my usual bar stool and swipe some peanuts as Pete approaches. Pete is the bartender, grayish hair and Boston accent even though he has spent 24 years living in Sin City.   
  
"Hey Catherine, how are you this fine morning?"  
  
I wasn't going to tell him my real name when he had asked a few weeks before, the name "Catherine" had just slipped out of my mouth.  
  
"I'm fine. Just got out of work."  
  
"Good or bad day?" he asks.  
  
"It wasn't that great."  
  
"Shall I take out the heavy stuff?"  
  
"Sure," I respond and look back as the gang of guys yell swears at the TV.   
  
Pete greats me with a whiskey sour and goes off to attend to a new patron that just entered the bar.  
  
I really like this place I decide as I drink down my liquid breakfast. Not many bars are conveniently open at 9 in the morning and already have a group of people at them.   
  
Pete hands me another whiskey sour soon after I finish the first.   
  
"How was the cab ride this morning?"  
  
I slightly hang my head. "I drove here."  
  
Pete bites at his lower lip. "Hmmm. Only a couple more than, I don't want you having an accident, you're not like these other buffoons." He points to the guys who are now applauding the TV set.  
  
The new patron who had just entered a few minutes before nods his baseball cap at me. I slightly smile back. I notice that he is young, probably a college kid with either a real or fake ID.   
  
"I'm Mark," he says with a smile.  
  
"Catherine," I reply finishing off my whiskey sour.  
  
"Nice name," he responds back.  
  
"I'm not interested," I say trying to cut him off at the knees.  
  
"Oh I wasn't...you're a little old for me."  
  
Thanks a lot kid. "Yes I am."  
  
He fidgets nervously with the napkin under his beer. "I was up all night. I have a major test tomorrow in astronomy and I think I'm going to fail. A friend of mine told me about this place so I was hoping a beer or two would ignite some of my brain cells so that I can pass." He moves the Cleveland Indians cap up so that brown curls fall down on his forehead.  
  
In a flash I see a young Grissom. "One more Pete," I call out to him.  
  
"Have you ever taken astronomy?" the kid asks with a smile that looks like Grissom.  
  
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Yes I did. I loved learning about the planets and the mathematical proximity of light year space travel."  
  
He laughs, a nice laugh. "Well you just lost me."  
  
"You can calculate the distance between our galaxy and stars in other galaxies through mathematical computations."  
  
"I'm still lost," he says watching me drown my next drink. "How many have you had?"  
  
"I'm fine, thank you."  
  
We spend the next hour talking about the Hubble Telescope, Newton, and the reasons why Pluto is not a planet. He actually is very knowledgeable and most likely will pass his test even though he's over tired.  
  
"I better go," I tell him starting to get off the barstool and nearly falling down. He's over to me in an instant. "I'm fine."  
  
"You will be after you sleep it off. Can I call a cab for you?"  
  
"I have my SUV."  
  
"You can't drive," he says with a shake of his head.  
  
"He's right," Pete adds.  
  
"Really I'm fine," I say but the kid's face looks slightly blurry to me.  
  
"No you're not Catherine," he says, pays for my bill, and with an arm around me walks me out. I notice that his beer is only partially drunk.  
  
"You didn't have anything more to drink."  
  
"No, I didn't. I wanted to drown my sorrows but instead I ended up talking to this smart old lady," he grins.  
  
"Watch it," I reply as he helps me to an old Ford Escort.  
  
"Okay, where do you live or at least where can I drop you off?"  
  
I really don't fear this kid so I give him my real address. I must pass out because when my eyes next open I'm in the car still but in the parking garage of my building.  
  
"Oh good...I wasn't sure what to do if you didn't wake up."  
  
"I'm awake," I tell him. My head is spinning now and he quickly gets out helping me.  
  
I notice the familiar SUV parked in the visitor parking lot but it doesn't register with me whose it is.  
  
Mark nearly has to carry me up my three flights until we reach my apartment door. Outside of it stands Gil Grissom. There is a look of shock on his face, his eyes wide, his mouth partly open.   
  
I want to hide, to go somewhere else. But he stands looking at me, looking into my soul as only he can do.  
  
"Do you know this man, Catherine?" Mark asks in a whisper that doesn't escape Grissom's ears.  
  
"Catherine?" His face holds more shock.  
  
"He's my boss, Mark. Thanks for everything, you can go."  
  
Mark looks unsure, his eyes dart back and forth from Grissom to me. "Okay, if you're sure…"  
  
"I am. Thanks again."  
  
He nods his head and starts off back down the hallway.  
  
I try to fetch my keys out of my purse but end up dropping the whole damn thing on the floor. Cough drops, loose change and matches from the bar litter the floor. Grissom bends down to help me pick everything up. I sway slightly from having my head so close to the floor; he grabs hold of my arm to steady me. What happens next utterly shocks me. Instead of quickly letting go he pulls me close to him in a hug of sorts. I can't believe it. Grissom has never been so close to me before, our bodies touching. It's a friendly hug on his part but it makes me feel all warm inside. I know that for Grissom this is unusual- he has really shown he cares.  
  
The tears start rolling down my checks, I can't stop them. He holds me tighter. I wish he would never let go. His arms are strong and surprising muscular for a man who spends all his time in a lab not a gym. His cheek touches my cheek and our hair mingles slightly together.  
  
"Sara," he says in a low voice, "What has happened to you?"  
  
I can't answer him so I cry further.  
  
"First the drinking, now this. Luckily I stopped by to go over a report with you or else you would have made a huge mistake.'  
  
"What mistake?" I ask.  
  
"Bringing that young guy home with you- some stranger and you're drunk…"  
  
I try to correct him. "I didn't bring him home; he was just giving me a ride."  
  
Grissom lets go of me and now I long for his touch.  
  
"I'll get you help."  
  
"Please go," I say not meaning it.  
  
He stands up and looks down at me, on the floor, my life scattered along it in the form of change and cough drops. It is then that I notice that his hands are empty. No report.  
  
"Grissom, you didn't come here to talk about the report."  
  
He fidgets like the college student did at the bar, his feet and hands moving. "I…there…"  
  
I stand up now too and look into those blue eyes, his best feature in my opinion. Maybe it's my drunken state of mind but I lay my cards on the table. "You came here because you just wanted to see me, because you care."  
  
"Of course I care," he says quickly, too quickly.  
  
"The question is how much do you care?" I ask and he looks puzzled. "Do you care about me as a friend, an employee or something more?"  
  
He licks his lips. He can't look into my eyes. "I can't talk about this right now."  
  
I nod which makes the hallway spin slightly.  
  
"I better go," he quickly says, "Sleep this off, you have work in a few hours." He starts off down the hall.  
  
I yell to him. "Grissom!"  
  
He stops and turns to face me.  
  
"You're not Dr. Lurie, this isn't your fault."  
  
A glazed look appears on his eyes almost like he wants to cry. "Yes it is."  
  
He starts off again and once more I yell. "Wait! Don't leave me please. I don't want to live like this. Please." I nearly choke on my words.  
  
He walks swiftly back to me. "I'm here for you."  
  
He helps me with the door and walks me in.  
  
My apartment is a wreck. I haven't cleaned for days or taken out the trash. Grissom goes quickly to work tiding up the place and dispensing of several empty liquor bottles.  
  
He calls Catherine and tells her that neither him or I will be in- we have both caught the flu. I can imagine what Catherine's thinking and how she'll share her theories with Nick, Warrick, Greg, Brass, Hodges…the whole crew.  
  
Grissom makes me green tea and we sip it on my couch together. He reads to me for a while when I get the chills. He holds my head when I alleviate the alcohol from my system. He makes me tomato soup for dinner. And that night he sleeps in the chair in my living room as I crash on my comfortable bed. I awake to find him still there in the morning.  
  
He makes me toast, even buttering it. I think it's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. He spends the rest of the day with me and forces me to call a therapist that specializes in addictions. He only leaves me to go to his place to change for the night's shift.   
  
We go to work together and as I watch him head out on a call he places his baseball cap on his head and then lifts it up, the curls falling. He smiles at me and I return the smile. Just as he is about to leave with Nick, he stops and comes back into the building. He touches my shoulder but it isn't the touch that sends shivers up my spine, it's his words.  
  
"I'm here for you. We'll get through this together."  
  
The Vegas night has turned chilly but I don't feel it. I see the beginning of something forming. I go back into the lab ready for anything that might be thrown my way. At this day's end I know one thing- I won't be heading to any bar.  
  
The end. 


End file.
